


Good Behaviour

by meaninglessblah



Series: Prompts & Fills [13]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Conditioning, Humor, M/M, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah
Summary: “Damn,” Jason murmurs, almost too low for Tim to hear. When he glances back the man is nodding above the weave of his arms over his chest, an impressed smile tugging at his lips. “I still haven’t managed to train that one into Dickie yet. That’s impressive.”Damian looks a little too proud at the praise, and several dots connect in Tim’s head.“Are you testing me?” Tim asks, too shocked to be as incredulous as he intends.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Series: Prompts & Fills [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987264
Comments: 16
Kudos: 92





	Good Behaviour

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old prompt fill, moved over from Tumblr. The prompt was "Are you testing me?"

It hasn’t even been a full hour before Tim hears the clack of the handheld clicker again. It’s been plaguing his every waking moment for the last week, with increasing frequency, and whilst it hasn’t yet emerged into the realm of unbearably annoying, the mystery behind its use is starting to grate on Tim’s nerves. 

He turns to face Damian where he’s sat at the conference table, gloves shucked and a blueberry muffin in his hand. There’s a sprinkling of crumbs dotting his cheek that Tim is compelled to point out to his compulsively hygienic tendencies, except that his attention is drawn - once again - to the small black device resting in Damian’s other palm. 

“Damian,” he hedges, and braces for the staccato clack-clack. 

“Yes, Timothy?” Damian responds once the sound has settled firmly in Tim’s eardrums, turning to face him. Jason’s chin lifts a notch to watch their interaction where he’s sprawled back on the chair adjacent, tilting back precariously on two legs as he rocks his heels against the lip of the table. 

Tim shoves down the uneasy turn of his stomach and asks, “What on earth is that?” 

Damian inspects the device like he’s only just noticing it. “It’s a behavioural stimulant. Primarily used on dogs. I’ve been training Titus, and found it quite effective in bridging the gap between positive reinforcement and reward distribution.” 

Tim feels his brow pull into a tight crease. “So why do you have it down here?” 

“I’m experimenting,” he replies cryptically and shortly, and doesn’t seem to feel the need to elaborate. Tim frowns but returns to his post-patrol procedure, stripping back his cowl and setting the cape aside. 

_Clack-clack._

This time he turns entirely to glare at the pair of men at the table, meeting twin blank, innocent expressions. “Okay, _what_ is going on here? What’s with the clicking?” 

“He told you,” Jason interjects. “We’re experimenting.” 

“Experimenting on _what_?” Tim snaps, though he suspects he knows the answer. 

“Whether subjects’ inadequate habits can be curbed and replaced with satisfactory behaviours,” Damian says primly. “Specifically with regard to cleanliness and environmental tidiness.” 

Tim blinks, and tries to digest that. “That doesn’t explain why you clicked at me, just now.” 

Damian pauses a moment, like he’s considering whether to explain or not, and says, “You folded your cape.” 

Tim glances down at the material in his hands, which is sure enough folded with neat precision into a compact stack worthy of display case. It’s a little surprising to see, given how haphazard he usually is with tossing the cape over any available surface in his post-patrol haze. He doesn’t even remember folding it. 

It makes him a little uneasy, as he drops into his chair and brings up his digital report. The sooner he can make his notes, the sooner he can duck out from under Damian and Jason’s lingering presences. He can’t help but feel how he’s being watched, the sensation dragging up his spine as he begins to type. 

He does his best to shove the thought from his mind. The less attention he gives them, the more likely they are to grow tired of whatever game they’re playing and leave him be. 

Tim almost manages to forget their presence after a few minutes, swept up in the tide of pattering keys and scrolling text, when he reaches for his mug of cold coffee. Lifts it to his lips without pausing, takes a sip, and sets it down. 

_Clack-clack._

It ratchets Tim’s shoulders up, snaps him right out of whatever focused reverie he’d managed to achieve, as he spins to stare pointedly at Damian’s palm. The man doesn’t break beneath the glower, except to shift his thumb off the button and chew silently. 

Tim lifts an eyebrow, and Damian eventually swallows. 

“Coaster,” he says, with a slight tilt towards Tim’s desk, and sure enough, when he glances down to where his fingers are still wrapped around the handle of his mug, it’s resting on the cork coaster to the left of his keyboard. 

He doesn’t even remember putting it there. Has only the vague recollection of Alfred huffing and shifting his mug time and time again, of it gradually becoming buried beneath the clutter of his desk, the coaster swamped with more mugs than it could possibly ever hold. 

Glancing down the width of his desk now, Tim is stunned to realise how… tidy it is. He hadn’t even noticed. 

“Damn,” Jason murmurs, almost too low for Tim to hear. When he glances back the man is nodding above the weave of his arms over his chest, an impressed smile tugging at his lips. “I still haven’t managed to train that one into Dickie yet. That’s _impressive_.” 

Damian looks a little too proud at the praise, and several dots connect in Tim’s head. 

“Are you testing me?” Tim asks, too shocked to be as incredulous as he intends. 

“Training,” Damian corrects, and Tim pulls to his feet. Shoves his chair back loudly into the desk on habit, hard enough to rattle the mug on its coaster and the handful of pens arranged neatly beneath the monitor. 

Not loud enough to drown out the resulting _clack-clack._

“ _Stop_ that,” Tim demands, frustration rising, and yanks his hand back from the tucked-in seat. Since when did he ever treat his furniture so well? Since when was he organised enough to do anything other than leave a careless trail of clothing and belongings behind him on his half-comatose trudge up to his bedroom? 

It’s downright spooky, and he doesn’t like the implications. 

“How long have you been training me with that thing?” Tim snaps in a sudden spiral of fear. Surely it can’t have been that long, or he would have noticed sooner. Wouldn’t he? 

Unless it’s been so pervasive that everything but his subconscious has tuned out the noise of the clicker, releasing a helpful little dose of dopamine into his sleep-addled brain every time Tim completes a designated task. 

Tim doesn’t _think_ it’s been that long. It can’t have been. Otherwise the compulsion would be harder to shake. Right? 

Damian and Jason share a look that does nothing to ease Tim’s concerns. 

“How _long_?” he demands. 

“Three weeks,” Jason admits, folding his hands behind his head as he tilts. “Same time I started training Dick. We didn’t think it would work so quickly, but our apartment is the tidiest I’ve seen it in literal months. He even cleared the dining table without so much as a look from me the other night.” 

Tim’s burning gaze swings to Damian. “And you’re training me _why_?” 

“Because you’re filthy, Timothy,” Damian replies airily, and reaches for another blueberry muffin. Since he filled out his third upgrade of the pixie boots and came into as many inches, the current Robin’s appetite has been unquenchable. He’s rivalling Jason at the breakfast table most days, shovelling down eggs and pancakes with gusto only for Tim to find him hunting through the pantry an hour later. 

“Your mess was becoming unbearable,” Damian continues, with a corroborating nod from Jason, “and you respond poorly to advice from either of us. So we took matters into our own hands.” 

“By training me,” Tim accuses, “like a dog.” 

Jason shrugs, and Damian echoes the sentiment. “The results justify the means.” 

“You’re _conditioning_ me,” Tim stresses, crossing over to the table to stand over the squirt. It’s not nearly as impressive as it used to be, now that Damian’s actually packing on and holding muscle weight. “Without my consent, without my knowledge. For your own selfish benefit.” 

“Have you not benefited?” Damian retorts with a pointed sweep of Tim’s very tidy workspace. He can’t bring himself to turn around to look, to be betrayed by his own unwitting compliance. 

“That’s irrelevant.” 

“I think it’s very relevant. Both Richard and you have made incredible progress in such a short time. Both your lives have become more manageable since we implemented your training. Your organisation has improved, and as a result, your demeanour. It can only improve further from here.” 

“So what comes next? You buy me a collar and start teaching me tricks?” 

Jason snorts, loud and obnoxious, as colour rises on Damian’s cheeks. Tim doesn’t give him a chance to draw in a full breath before he fixes the other man with a cold stare. 

“I’m sure Dick’s going to be just thrilled when he finds out you’ve been training him like a circus seal. I expect that’s going to do wonders for your sex life, Hood.” 

Jason’s laughter snaps off, his expression bleeding into sudden hesitant concern. “Now, wait a second-” 

Tim smirks. “You haven’t seen how bad his cold shoulder gets yet, have you? Dickie’s got a temper, Hood, and you’re about to find out exactly how bad blueballs can get when you set it off.” 

“That’s uncalled for,” Jason tries to defend, tucking his legs back under the table as he sets his chair down. Tim cuts him off with a sharp _cluck-cluck_ of his tongue, stunning both men into sudden silence as he grins. 

“You know, that’s actually pretty useful,” Tim murmurs, malicious satisfaction filling his chest when both their expressions fall into wary horror. “Don’t even necessarily need a clicker to achieve the results either. But you’re both missing an important element of the training process.” 

“Which is?” Damian entreats with the hesitance of a man feeling blindly for a bomb. 

Tim makes sure he leans down close enough to see the individual crumbs on the teen’s face, to feel the sharp intake of his breath when Tim grins sharply and purrs, “You have to follow up the immediate approval with a _reward_.” 

Damian swallows hard, the blueberry muffin making an odd protrusion as it travels down his throat. 

“Good _boy_ ,” Tim murmurs, low and coaxing, and feels an immense wash of gratification when Damian’s cheeks flush red beneath his complexion. 

Damian’s mouth opens and closes, producing no sound as Tim straightens and glances over at Jason, who’s just as cowed. 

“I’m going to bed now. If I so much as hear the sound of that clicker in my _dreams_ , I’ll flood _your_ public social media profiles,” he threatens, pointing his index finger at Jason to watch him pale before it swivels to fix on Damian, “with _his_ very inventive furry art.” 

Jason spins to fix Damian with an accusatory stare that he flounders to rebut, the muffin slipping from his fingers in his defensive panic. Tim smirks and turns up the stairs to the sounds of an argument erupting behind him, letting his shoulders slide out of their tense curl with the assurance that he doesn’t need to worry about any pesky clickers anytime soon. 

“Goodnight, boys,” he calls back, drowned by the shrieking below, “and _be good_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [ ](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah)


End file.
